


Twist of Fate

by shadowsamurai



Category: Ghost Ship (2002), Stigmata (1999)
Genre: Angst, Explicit Language, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Subtext
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-24
Updated: 2012-06-24
Packaged: 2017-11-08 10:41:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/442330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowsamurai/pseuds/shadowsamurai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fate delivers surprises in the most unusual of ways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twist of Fate

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for Ghost Ship and Stigmata (alternate ending). The story takes place after both films, but I've used the alternate ending for Stigmata. Story can either follow canon or can be AU, taking place around the same time.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I'm just borrowing things for a while and I promise I'll put everything back exactly how I found it when I've finished. Well, almost exactly how I found it. ;)

GS-S-GS-S-GS-S

Andrew Kiernan had never been a paranoid man, but recent events had changed that, more than likely permanently. Now whenever he heard a raised voice, a sharp noise, he jumped and turned, thinking they had finally found him. Of course, he wasn't sure exactly who Daniel Houseman would send after him; Andrew didn't even know if the Cardinal *would* send anyone, but knowing Daniel as he did, retribution would be inevitable. He would not be content to just let Andrew disappear with a document that was probably the most damaging thing on the planet to the Church. Yet so far, Andrew had managed to escape Daniel's clutches. The months had fallen by at an inexorably slow pace, and each one that passed made his heart ache more.

Frankie was gone. *His* Frankie, as she would always be in his mind. He had known, the moment she received her fourth wound, that if she survived the stigmata, it would be a minor miracle, and that was not a word the former priest used lightly. Andrew had hoped, even gone so far as to pray, that God would smile upon him, upon Frankie, and spare her from the fifth deadly wound. But as he had kissed her gently, he felt the life leaving her. The blood on the pale sheet had only confirmed it, and for a long time afterwards, Andrew had wept. When the tears dried, he found he had no path, no future, and no idea how to move on from the position he was in. He had lost everything, including that which he hadn't known he was looking for, and he was so close to losing himself. All he had left was the Gospel; it was scant comfort and poor compensation for all he had been through.

Andrew sighed and stared out at the approaching coastline, not knowing exactly what he was doing in Alaska, but not really caring. If someone had asked, he could have given them any number of excuses; the particularly powerful dream he'd had of Frankie, the amount of alcohol he had drunk, feeling safer in less populated areas…. But that was all they would be: excuses. Andrew didn't know why he was there, and he didn't care. All he was doing was existing, trying to find a true meaning for his life because he knew Frankie wouldn't want him wasting it. Yes, he had the Gospel to translate, but once he had done that, then what? Try to take on the Church? Andrew shook his head slightly. He felt he would have more luck trying to take on Mount Everest in a bare knuckle fight. But he owed it to Frankie, and to Almeida, to get the truth about Jesus known. That was, of course, if he lived that long.

Stepping slowly off the boat, Andrew shifted his backpack, mentally noting that the scroll was still there. He looked around for any sign of somewhere to stay, but the only thing he saw was a bar, which would do just as well. He took a deep breath, turned the collar up on his jacket, and pushed the door open.

It took his eyes a few moments to adjust to the dim light. The room was smoky, wood panelled, and full of dockhands and sailors; nothing out of the ordinary, yet when Andrew started to walk towards the bar, several of the tables fell silent and stared at him in shock.

"Beer," Andrew said to the barman quietly, trying to quiet the feeling of discomfort that had formed like a ball in his stomach.

The barman handed him a bottle, wide- and wild-eyed. Andrew drunk a mouthful, keeping his eyes downcast, but it didn't take long for the silence to become oppressive and the staring felt like a thousand tiny needles burying themselves into his skin. Taking a calming breath, he looked up to find the barman still stood in front of him.

"Is there a problem?" the ex-priest asked.

The barman blinked several times as though bringing himself back to reality with some effort. "Depends on how long you plan on stayin' round here," he replied.

Andrew bristled at the unfriendly words delivered in a pleasant tone. "I don't really think that's any of your business."

"Look, I'm tryin' to help you," the barman said, sighing. "You want some advice?"

"Not really."

"Tough. You're gettin' it. Find somewhere else to stay, away from here." The barman picked up a glass and began polishing it. "But if you've got your heart set on bein' here, take yourself off to a dark corner an' stay there. It's not a good idea for you to be seen."

Andrew felt that ball in his stomach harden and sink. "Why?"

GS-S-GS-S-GS-S

The rain lashed across the deck as Epps steered her tug into the dock, her expression grim. She couldn't remember the last time she had been properly dry, having been out to sea for more months than she had been on land. She wouldn't have minded so much, though, if she had actually found something. But every forge Epps had come across had been accompanied by more than its fair share of problems. Either it wasn't fixable with just one person, or it sank before she could get it back to the dock, or there was no ship at the coordinates where there was supposed to be one.

Once *Murphy's Five* was stationary, Epps took a deep breath and rested her head against the wheel. The encounter with the Salvager - she didn't think of him as 'Jack' any more - seemed like so long ago, yet the emotions over the incident were still so raw. In such a short space of time, Epps had lost not only her shipmates, but her friends, her family, and her livelihood. And in Murphy, she felt she had lost more than just a close friend. Everyone assumed theirs was a platonic relationship, and for all she knew now, that was all it ever would have been. But there were times, some rare occasions, when Epps felt that Murphy was holding back, like he wanted to say more, do more, but didn't dare take advantage of her in any way. He knew how difficult it had been for her to make a name for herself as a salvager; part of the closeness they had enjoyed in their relationship came from Murphy being the one to give Epps the break she deserved.

Epps spent a lot of time contemplating her luck and the way it was running. She was lucky to have survived the sinking of the *Antonia Graza* and she was very lucky the medics who picked her up didn't have her sectioned. But they put her insane ramblings down to exposure and Epps soon learnt to keep quiet; it was better all around if she simply agreed with them and didn't push the issue. But she knew the truth; she knew the Salvager was real, knew he was still out there, praying on the greedy and then stealing their souls. Epps shook her head. For all the damn good that knowledge did her. She seemed to have used all her good luck up surviving destroying the old cruise liner; all that kept her company now was bad luck.

The tug she had managed to buy was worse than a leaking tub; she didn't have the money to hire a crew, which meant she could only take on small jobs, and she kept having to dodge the coastguard; her finds kept slipping away from her; and it rained, almost constantly. Epps decided that it wasn't luck, it was the Salvager. She decided he was punishing her, though whether he had the power or the inclination to do that, she didn't know. It was just easier to blame a 'real' person than accept she was simply unlucky.

Epps looked up and stretched. Today she didn't care whether it was luck, the Salvager or goddamn mutant meerkats that were to blame. Today, all Epps was bothered about was grabbing a beer, a hot meal, a shower, and some sleep, preferably in that order. Today, she just wanted the simple things in life.

"No luck again, Epps?" a burly man shouted as she got off the tug.

Epps waved wearily in greeting. "Yeah, Bruce, I hit the jackpot." She pointed to the huge empty space behind the tug. "Isn't she beautiful?"

Bruce looked only mildly amused. He knew how difficult the past few months had been for her. "There's nothing there, Epps."

"Exactly. A whole lot of fucking nothing. That's my luck."

"There's always tomorrow," Bruce said confidently, hoping to lift her spirits a bit.

But Epps wasn't in the mood to be cheered up. She wasn't in the mood for anything. "Yeah, of course, tomorrow. That land of opportunities." Without bothering to wait for a reply, or even say goodbye, Epps turned her collar up against the weather and stalked off down the dock, her feet automatically taking her to the bar.

GS-S-GS-S-GS-S

Andrew watched the barman open his mouth to reply but stop short, his eyes drawn to something behind the ex-priest. Andrew didn't need to turn around to realise someone had entered the bar, and it was obvious that someone was the reason he shouldn't stick around too long, judging by the way the silence deepened.

Epps didn't really notice the quiet atmosphere in the bar; she was far too concerned with getting a beer. She kept her head down as she walked across the room; she didn't need to look up to see where the bar was as she could have gotten there in her sleep.

"Hey, Gray, give me a beer," she said to the barman.

Gray looked from Epps to Andrew, his jaw slightly agape. "Er, sure, Epps," he replied, noting she was completely oblivious to the man next to her. "Bad day again?"

"Yeah. I've lost count of how many that makes straight," she replied, taking a grateful swig of beer.

Gray just grunted, and that in itself was strange. Normally he was more talkative than a group of old women, but Epps still didn't notice anything was amiss. She knew there was someone at the bar next to her, knew it was a man and that he wasn't a regular, but that was about it.

When it became clear to the rest of the room that nothing extraordinary was going to happen, the buzz of conversation started up again slowly. Andrew stared obliquely at the woman next to him, wondering why she had invoked such a reaction from the bartender. Shrugging slightly to himself, he turned to question the barman about his words only to find he had disappeared. Andrew frowned, then turned his attention to his beer, his thoughts back on the Gospel and his Frankie. Whenever his bottle was empty, a fresh one would appear but he never saw the barman long enough to talk to him. Finally, he'd had enough alcohol; now he wanted a place to stay, to try and catch a few hours of haunted sleep. Throwing some money on the bar, and idly wondering how long his meagre funds would last, Andrew turned to leave.

Epps drained her bottle and sighed, her hunger pangs finally becoming too strong to ignore. Throwing some money on the bar, she looked up to catch Gray's eye, half waving before turning to leave. She didn't see Gray open his mouth to stop her, didn't notice the quiet that had once again fallen over the bar as though someone had smothered the room in a heavy blanket. She didn't see anything except the man who had been stood next to her.

It could not be *him*. It just wasn't possible.

But this man was the same height, the same build. He had the same eyes and the same face. The hair was styled a little differently, and there seemed to be less grey at the temples. And the air about him was different, but not so much so, and Epps couldn't help the name that escaped her lips.

"Murphy?"

Andrew stared at the woman in front of him, not understanding she was addressing him. He looked around and was startled to see that everyone was staring at them, and he looked back uncomfortably.

"I'm sorry, are you talking to me?" he asked quietly. He didn't know her, she didn't remind him of anyone, and yet there was something profoundly familiar about her.

The accent was different, more pronounced Irish, but he sounded so much like Murphy that Epps felt her heart contract. She tried to speak, but her mouth was dry and her voice box seemed to have seized up. Suddenly she was aware that every pair of eyes was upon her, and that she had been stood next to this man for the past hour; no one had told her and she hadn't noticed.

Anger boiled upside Epps like acid and she whirled, fixing Gray with a glare. "You knew! You knew and you said shit, you bastard!"

"Hey, come on, Epps," Gray replied, holding his hands up. "What did you want me to say? 'Oh, by the way, there's a guy stood next to you that could be Murphy's twin brother?' You got eyes, Epps. It's not my fault you didn't see him."

The temptation to leap across the bar and punch Gray was so great that Epps felt her fists clench and her muscles tense. But curiosity over the stranger's identity won out and she turned, only to find he had disappeared. Cursing savagely, Epps scanned the room for him, and not seeing his face, stalked towards the door, kicking several chairs out of the way as she went.

The cold air hit her like a slap in the face and she sobered quickly. The man had not been Murphy; it could *not* have been him. Panic gripped her like a vice around her throat. Was she hallucinating? Was it the Salvager - had Jack returned to torment her? Epps shook her head. No, the man in the bar looked bewildered about everything; he didn't seem to pose her a threat, but she had been wrong about that kind of thing before. Jack was the perfect example.

From the shadows he watched her, wondering what her story was, and whether he could ease the pain he seemed to have caused her. Andrew didn't know the woman at all, yet it seemed she knew him. He couldn't bring himself to believe Daniel had hired an assassin to silence him, but then again, anything was possible. Yet looking at the dark haired woman before him, Andrew felt she was more troubled than dangerous, and although he wasn't officially a priest any more, the urge to help was too strong to ignore.

"Excuse me."

Epps froze at the voice. She wasn't surprised someone had spoken to her; she was, after all, fairly well known around the dock, even before the incident with the Salvager. No, the shock came from hearing the voice itself.

"Excuse me," Andrew repeated. He was certain she had heard him, but she hadn't moved, hadn't acknowledged his words. Then slowly, as though turning was painful, she looked at him.

"Who are you?" Epps demanded.

Andrew looked a little taken aback at her tone. "Look, I don't know why, but it's seems I've upset you in some way."

"And?" Epps snapped. She didn't like to be surprised, and seeing a man who was Murphy's twin was more surprise than she could handle.

"And I wanted to apologise," Andrew replied as he stared at her. "Do I remind you of someone?"

Epps clamped her jaw shut, working the muscles in her cheeks. "Someone, yeah," she said through gritted teeth.

Andrew decided not to pursue the matter. "I see. Since my presence here is obviously distressing you, I'll leave." He nodded slightly, turned and walked away. Well meaning words, he knew, but where he was going to go? Perhaps he could find a sheltered place in an abandoned hut somewhere, at least until sunrise. Things always looked better during daylight, and the sun always reminded him of Frankie; bright, warm, light, needed to sustain life.

Epps watched him walk away, watched the familiar roll of the shoulders, and suddenly she was gripped by a compulsion, one that overrode her anger and panic and fear.

"Wait!" she called, breaking into a jog. Andrew's step faltered and he stopped, but didn't turn. "I'm sorry."

"Why?" he asked, finally looking at her.

"You do remind me of someone, a very…close friend," Epps said. "He…died."

"I'm sorry," Andrew replied, and she could tell he was sincere.

"I was rude to you," she explained, then sucking air in through her teeth and letting it out explosively, Epps thrust her hand forward. "I'm Epps."

Andrew hesitated a fraction before reaching out and taking the proffered limb. "Andrew Kiernan. Nice to meet you."

"And you."

His gaze turned curious. "What kind of a name is Epps?"

"My last one," Epps replied, pulling a face.

"Ah. Do you have a first one?"

"Of course."

"Are you going to tell me what it is?" Andrew asked, almost amused.

"Does it make any difference?" Epps replied.

"Only in the interest of being polite."

Epps stared out at the moonlit sea. "Maureen."

Andrew waited until she looked back at him before smiling. "Thank you…Epps." Then he shifted his backpack. "Well, I'd better be going. I need to find a place to stay for tonight."

"Do you think you'll be here long?"

"You're the second person to ask me about that," Andrew said, suspicion creeping into his voice.

Epps just nodded. "The friend you remind me of, he was a well known face around here. His death…it was…." She stopped, swallowing hard. She had spent so much time alone, so much effort having gone into shutting the memories out that now she had the chance to talk about it, Epps found she couldn't.

Andrew fought against his instinct to reach out to comfort her as his mind raced. "I don't know if it helps or not, but I'm…I *used* to be a priest. If you want to talk to me, it won't go any further."

Epps caught the slip instantly. "Used to be?"

Andrew sighed, pain lancing his features. "It's a long story."

"Feel like sharing?" Epps asked after a beat.

"You wouldn't believe me."

"No one believes me either," Epps said with a shrug. "At least we wouldn't be alone."

Andrew's expression was one of utter uncertainty. "I don't know…."

"Look, I trust you. I can't explain how…. Well, I can, just not out here in the cold, pissing rain," Epps replied. "You need a place to stay and I need someone to talk to, so if that offer's genuine…."

"It is," Andrew said, nodding.

"Okay, well…." Epps gestured behind her, indicating they should turn around, and they set off in silence, though oddly, it wasn't uncomfortable. "I should warn you, my house isn't the Ritz."

Andrew smiled. "Compared to my lodgings at the moment, I'm sure it will be a palace."

"Non-existent?"

"Outside."

Epps nodded. "Still. I spend most of my time at sea. And I've had to sell most of my things just to get by." She shrugged, the gesture rough and uncaring. "I've had a bad few months."

"Like I said, I'm sure it'll be fine." He gave her a wry smile. "I'm not exactly swimming in luxury myself. Though as a priest, I never really was anyway."

"Why did you stop being a priest? If you don't mind me asking," Epps said.

Andrew's eyes grew distant. "I had a…disagreement with the Church."

"The Church?"

"Certain people within the Church," he clarified.

"Right," Epps replied, nodding once. She had the distinct feeling he didn't want to talk about it, and until they were safely inside, she didn't want to press him for information, or share any.

Andrew used the time they were walking to contemplate the strange twist of fate that had drawn him to this place, and particularly to the woman next to him. It was an odd feeling, trusting someone he didn't know so completely, yet when he thought about it properly, Andrew realised the same thing had happened with Frankie. They had known each other an agonisingly short amount of time, yet his feelings for her were so profound, so sincere, it made his heart ache. The fact he *knew* she had felt the same way about him only compounded the pain. It was said that time healed all wounds, but Andrew doubted this particular hurt would ever fully go away.

Epps was also lost in thought, fighting the overwhelming urge to reach out and touch the man beside her. She *knew* it wasn't Murphy, knew it wasn't the man she had loved, but there were too many similarities for her to separate the two of them. But something else scared her more; Murphy had an abrupt edge to him, a hardness developed by years on the sea, and it had been like a barrier between them. But Andrew was different. He seemed softer, somehow, more open to the idea of allowing someone close to him, and Epps knew if there was even the slightly chance they could be friends, or even more, she would grab it eagerly with both hands. But she was already questioning her motives, as she knew he would if such a situation ever came to pass. Was she just so desperate for company, so tired of being alone, that she would latch herself on to any person who came along? Normally, Epps would have scoffed at such an idea. She was tough, independent; she didn't need anyone. But that was before Jack. Now….now she wasn't sure and that in itself was enough to frighten her senseless.

She knew, of course, that the most likely explanation for the pull she was feeling towards Andrew was simply because he looked so much like Murphy. It was logical, in a way only natural, but underlying that was still that difference, like the difference between light and dark. Epps knew she trusted Andrew, and in an odd way, she felt he trusted her too.

"We're here," she said quietly, but her voice still startled Andrew from his thoughts.

As he followed her into the house, his eyes flitted everywhere, taking everything in, and, oddly, checking all the exits. He felt like a criminal, even though he knew *he* wasn't the one who was in the wrong. In some ways, he longed to turn the clock back, to before he met Frankie, but he knew it wouldn't make any difference. His discontent with his life went much further back.

Andrew was brought back to his senses by a prickling sensation on the back of his neck, and he turned to see Epps staring at him. "Sorry, I was…," he started to say.

But Epps shook her head. "Don't worry about it. I know it's a mess."

"Not really. You're not here often," he stated, suddenly feeling unaccountably uncomfortable.

"Yeah, well." She brushed some hair from her face. "Look, I need to shower and change. Raid the kitchen, you might find some food that isn't mouldy in there. I know there's beer somewhere as well. Help yourself."

"Aren't you worried?" Andrew asked. "I mean, you have no reason to be but you don't know me."

"No, but I trust you." Epps then grinned crookedly at him. "Besides, if you try anything, I'll break your arms."

Andrew returned the smile. "Of that, I have no doubt." He looked around. "Do you have some sort of heating? Or a woodpile, perhaps?"

"Out the back," Epps called. She was already halfway up the stairs and her gesture to where the 'back' might be was a little vague.

She showered slowly, the sounds emanating from downstairs oddly comforting as Epps thought about the twist of fate that had brought a man like Andrew into her life. But as she dressed, she knew thinking would do neither of them any good. They needed to talk, to be open and honest, and then…. She shrugged to herself as she pulled a jumper on. And then they would see.

There was a pleasant fire roaring in the hearth when Epps finally made it downstairs, and some muffled sounds from the kitchen indicated Andrew had indeed found something for them to eat. She padded quietly to the kitchen, content to just lean against the doorframe and watch him.

"Beer?" he asked without turning around.

Epps smiled a little. "Yeah. Thanks."

Andrew twisted his arm round, handing her a bottle, his eyes fixed on whatever was in front of him. "Do you feel better now?"

"Much."

"So, what exactly do you do?"

"I own a tug and I salvage ships to sell," Epps replied as she sipped her drink. "Or at least I'm trying to. Lately I haven't had much luck."

"Can you actually make a living doing that?" Andrew asked curiously.

Epps nodded, then remembered he couldn't see her. "You can, but it's not easy work. What about you? How did you become a priest?"

Even from across the room, she could see his shoulders tighten. "I'd rather not talk about that. At least not yet."

"Alright. So, what are we eating?"

Andrew turned with a flourish, holding two plates, and wearing a rather tired smile. "Beans on toast. You know you really should stock your cupboards up. All I found in there besides this tin were spiders."

Epps eyed the meal. "None of them in there, I hope?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

With a plate and a bottle in hand, they both seated themselves around the table and started eating. It wasn't much, but it tasted like gourmet cuisine to both of them, and when they had finished, Epps pushed her plate back and drained her bottle.

"I was ready for that."

"So I see," Andrew replied with a small smile.

"I guess you're wondering what's going on, right?" Epps asked after a beat.

Andrew nodded. "Though you're probably feeling the same."

"You want some coffee? Or tea?"

"Coffee, thank you. I'll restack the fire while you're doing that," he offered, and ten minutes later found them both on the couch.

Epps sat with her legs curled underneath her, her eyes drawn to the flames. "Several months ago, me and my crew went out to get our fortune. We'd been at sea for months already, we needed to come back here and overhaul the *Arctic Warrior*…that was the name of the tug," she explained when she saw Andrew frown. "Plus we all needed a break."

"We?" Andrew prodded.

"Me, Dodge, Munder, Santos, Greer…and Murphy. Murphy was the captain, Greer the first mate, and Santos was the mechanic."

"Murphy is the one I look like?" Andrew hazarded a guess, remembering the name Epps had called him by in the bar.

She nodded. "A weather pilot called Jack Ferriman told us about this ship he'd see in the Bering Strait, and that it looked like it was adrift. We discussed it, decided it would be worth our while to take a look, and we all set off, with Jack. He insisted on coming along." Epps' eyes grew distant. "We found the ship. It was the *Antonia Graza*."

Andrew started a little. "I know that name. She was a cruise liner, wasn't she? Disappeared in the early sixties, if I remember rightly."

"That's her. Or was her." Epps sighed. "You won't believe me."

"Trust me," Andrew said, smiling.

Epps hesitated for a few moments before taking a deep breath and continuing with her tale. "Strange things started to happen on the ship. We found a bunch of dead guys, whose bodies couldn't have been there for long, and we also found several crates of solid gold bars. I saw a little girl, then the *Arctic Warrior* blew up, killing Santos. Then Greer died and Murphy…." Her voice caught. "Murphy was drowned. Something was seriously wrong, but none of us knew what. Then Katie, the little girl, showed me what had happened. Long story short, the original crew of the Graza had poisoned and killed everyone on board in order to get the gold. Then the singer, Francesca, betrayed the remaining crew and killed them. Then she was killed by…well, by Jack."

"Jack?" Andrew asked.

"Ferriman. The man who had come along with us, 'for the ride'. Yeah, weird, I know."

Andrew shrugged. "Depends. What happened next?"

"Jack marked Francesca on the hand, with a symbol almost like a fish hook."

"A soul gatherer," Andrew said, his eyes wide. "This Jack, was he collecting souls…as penance for something?"

Epps jumped to her feet. "How the hell did you know that?"

"The symbol you described, it features in several religious paintings," Andrew replied calmly. Then his smiled ruefully. "You forget, I used to be a priest. Things like 'souls' and 'penance' and 'sin' are the basic words of our religion. Whether we believe the stories or not is irrelevant; we all know them. Let me guess, Jack had lured your crew onto the ship in order to take your souls and add them to the ones he already had?"

Epps nodded, sitting back down again. "Apparently he had a quota to fill." Her expression turned vicious. "He was pretty pissed off when I blew the *Graza* up."

Andrew choked on his drink. "I can imagine. How did you survive something like that?"

"Faith, Father," Epps replied with a ghost of a smile.

"Don't do that, Epps," Andrew said somewhat absently.

"The only problem is the Salvager isn't dead," she continued. "When I was rescued, I saw him get on another liner with another lot of gold. He's still out there, doing the same thing he's been doing for centuries. And I spend most of my time wondering if he's ever going to come for me."

"You think he's responsible for your bad luck?" Andrew asked.

"It wouldn't surprise me." Epps turned to stare at him. "You're acting like you actually believe me."

"That's because I do."

"Why? Everyone else wanted to stick me in a straight jacket."

Andrew smiled. "You've trusted me, it's only fair I trust you." It was his turn to stare into the fire, as though the flames were soothing in some way. "Before I was a priest, I was a scientist, and when I became ordained, I joined an order that dealt with so called miracles. My job was to go out and disprove them, using my scientific knowledge to do so."

"Sounds stupid, if you ask me," Epps said, frowning. "Wouldn't the Church want to rejoice over these miracles?"

"The Church is not stupid, my child," Andrew replied, "But those who work in Her supposed best interests are."

Epps rolled her eyes. "Let's not get into a religious debate right now or we'll be here all night."

"All year," Andrew corrected. "Anyway, I was sent to Brazil to investigate the appearance of the face of the Virgin Mary on a building, and while there, I heard about a crying statue in a small village called Belo Quinto. I went to look at it and found the effect it had on the people quite amazing. Not only that, but the statue was crying tears of warm blood, and there was no explanation for it."

Epps blinked. "Wow."

"Exactly. But when I got back to Rome, my superior, Cardinal Houseman, didn't want to know. He sent me to Pittsburgh instead to investigate something trivial, or at least that's what I thought. And that's how I met Frankie." Andrew paused to collect himself. "You know, in a way, you remind me of her. Strong, independent, free-spirited, and definitely free-willed."

"Thanks. I think," Epps said with a smile.

"Frankie was suffering from stigmata."

"The wounds of Christ?" Epps asked.

Andrew nodded. "It started with her wrists, then her back. That was when I met her. She then started talking and writing in Aramaic, the language of Jesus himself. She was…extraordinary. I remember sitting in an open café near flower stalls drinking beer with her when she received the third wound, through her feet. But before that, just sitting and talking, it was…it was the start of something my vows forbid." He shook his head a little. "Anyway, I discovered that what Frankie had been speaking was what some believed to be the words of Jesus' own Gospel."

"Jesus wrote a Gospel?" Epps sounded surprised, but not shocked.

"He may have. We'll never know for sure, but that is what faith is for, right?" Andrew replied. "It turned out that her mother had been in Belo Quinto the same time as I was there, and the priest, Almeida, who had been in charge of the church with the crying statue had died. Frankie's mother sent her Almeida's rosary, and she had become…infused with his spirit. Almeida suffered from stigmata, which is why Frankie suffered. There's a section of the Church dedicated to translating Gospels, or there was, until Houseman shut it down. The Gospel wrote in Aramaic was the reason he did so, but Almeida refused to give it up and ran away with it."

"Why was it so damaging?"

Andrew paused, then reached over for his rucksack, which Epps noticed had never been far away from him. "Is damaging, Epps," he correcting. "It is damaging." He held the scroll for her to see. "Or it will be, if I ever finish translating it."

Epps just nodded. "What does it say?"

"It starts off 'the kingdom of God is inside you and all around you, not in mansions of wood and stone. Split a piece of wood and you will find me. Lift a rock and I am there.' Basically, if this document is to be believed, Jesus' final instructions were not to build churches everywhere or to institutionalise his religion. It was simply to encourage people to pray and to believe in him, wherever they were and whatever they were doing. Could you imagine if the world suddenly didn't have need of priests or churches? All those rich cardinals holed up in the Vatican would scream bloody murder."

"You're a cynic," Epps stated with a smile. "But you're right." She stared at the Gospel. "Put it away, will you? It's making me uncomfortable. I think I'd be happier if you were carrying an atom bomb."

"So would I."

"What happened to Frankie?" Epps asked quietly after a few moments.

"Houseman felt she was too much of a threat to *his* Church to be allowed to live and tried to kill her," Andrew said, his voice deliberately flat and emotionless. "I managed to rescue her from him, but…she received the fifth wound, the spear in the side, and it killed her. I tried to rescue her, I let myself love her…I believed it would be enough." He stopped as he began to sob.

Without thinking, Epps leant over and rubbed his forearm, then feeling brave, she slipped an arm around his shoulders. He took hold of her hand and rested his temple against hers, allowing his grief to spill out completely. While Epps held him, she realised she hadn't cried properly for everyone she had lost. For Munder and Dodge, who would never wind her up again. For Greer and Santos, so dependable and solid. And for Murphy, whom she had loved with all her heart. Andrew's openness allowed Epps to let go and she joined him in crying.

"Do you believe in fate, Andrew?" Epps asked after a while, when the room had fallen silent and they had both cried themselves out.

"Sometimes. Why?" he replied, noting it was the first time she had used his name.

"It seems strange that we've both lost someone close to us, and now we've found each other, and we're like the ones we've lost." She pulled a face. "Does that make sense?"

"Surprisingly, yes," Andrew said with a slight laugh. Epps made to move away, but he caught her hand in a gentle grasp and shook his head. "You don't have to. Unless you want to."

Epps thought about it. "I want another beer now. How about you?" she asked, and he nodded. When she returned, she sat down next to him and leant against him a little, smiling as his arm came to rest along the back of the couch, near her but not touching. "What will you do with the Gospel once you've translated it?"

"Find a way to get it known to the public," Andrew replied, sipping his beer. "Or find someone trustworthy to guard it until the time is right for it to come to light. I suppose it depends on whether I finish translating it or not. Aramaic isn't exactly a well known language."

"Yeah, I can see how that would be a problem."

"What about you?" he asked. "If your luck keeps turning sour, what will you do?"

"I haven't thought about it, don't really want to think about it," Epps replied. "I know tugs and the sea, and salvaging. I think I'd go crazy if I was stuck on land for any length of time."

"You could always find work as a hostess on a cruise liner."

"Is that supposed to be f…?" Epps exclaimed heatedly. Then she turned to see the mischievous glint in Andrew's eyes and the smile that threatened to break out. "Oh, you're so funny!" Her words dripped with sarcasm, but it didn't bother him.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I'll let you off…this time."

"Thank you."

Epps toyed with the neck of her bottle. "Look, I have an idea. Let's see what you make of it."

"Okay." Andrew shifted slightly so he could look at her.

"We get on pretty well already. We trust each other, which is always a good thing. You need a place to stay, and I have a place. Plus I'm hardly ever here, so…why don't you just stay here?" she suggested.

"I don't have any means to support myself," he replied. "I've been living off my savings and charity, both of which are bound to run out sooner or later."

"There is an alternative."

"Which is?"

"Are you any good on boats?" Epps asked with a grin.

"Boats?" Andrew repeated.

"Yeah, boats. I need help on the tug and who knows? You might bring me some much needed good luck. And if you don't…well, at least neither of us will be alone," she said with a shrug.

Andrew drained his beer slowly as he thought, then a smile spread across his face. "Alright. When do I start?"

FIN


End file.
